


Close Quarters

by lettalady



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Put two people who hate each other in an elevator for 12 hours. What happens?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Quarters

  
 

## -Hour One-

_7:05-8pm_

The elevator lurches to a halt, the overhead lights flickering off and switching to the dimmer –  _yep this is what it looks like when there’s a malfunction_  – setting. It is perhaps meant by the developers to conserve energy and forestall panic. All it really does is effectively make it difficult to see the other occupants of the elevator clearly. That, for you, actually is a blessing. Why? Because the only other occupant of the elevator today is the one person in the building you can’t stand: _Sunshine_.

Tom’s first words regarding the circumstance: “Well. This doesn’t look good.”

You just barely contain the urge to groan out, “No shit,” in reply. Instead of airing a sarcasm laden comment, you busy yourself with pulling out your phone to pray that of all the days for reception to magically work deep within the building, today might actually be the day.

No wifi – and no service. Your heart flutters when you note the lack of signal, but then a shift in your stance causes the image in the corner of the screen to change. One bar. The slightest bit of signal made possible for having already risen towards the upper floors of the complex. It’s the smallest bit of hope – the chance that you might not be trapped with Sunshine for all that long.

“I’m just going to call maintenance.” Your explanation to him isn’t entirely needed. Lord knows what else he might assume you’re doing, but you don’t want him doing the same thing and risk ending up clogging the line. If the power has gone out to the entire building, if it isn’t just a problem with this elevator, maintenance will have their hands full.

The lack of wifi connectivity is worrisome, but then, if you’ve risen high enough in the building for signal you’re definitely out of range of the free wifi in the lobby. You latch on to a flare of hope before it fizzles out – maybe it’s just a glitch in the elevator’s systems. Something easily rectified. Maybe. Hopefully.  _Please_.

You listen to the tones coming through the speaker of your phone, holding as still as possible and hoping the signal doesn’t cut out again. One ring, two, three, four… At least the line is active and ringing, even if nobody is answering. The fact that he is standing there, immobile and seemingly unbothered by the situation, grates at you. You glare at him in the dim lighting, “Wanna call and report it to fire and rescue, too?”

Your snark nets you a short nod and mock salute before he busies himself with his phone. You do your best to bite down the annoyance when he doesn’t seem to have any issues with signal, his call getting answered seemingly immediately. You’ve been put through to voicemail.  _Voicemail_. Because that’s going to do you much good. At least help will be on the way after his call is complete. Message left for maintenance, you turn your attention to him.

He explains the situation as briefly as he apparently is capable – which is to say, not brief at all – and then pauses, listening to instruction that has his focus glued to the elevator control panel. 

With the intensity of his focus you find your attention drawn to the panel as well. Is there any way to guess how high, exactly, the pair of you have risen? You hadn’t paid much attention while the elevator was moving. Now the screen just shows a set of dashes rather than floor level.

“No.” Tom turns away from the control panel to glance at you for a moment before looking back at the many buttons adorning the wall of the elevator. “Two of us. No. Yea… Yea. Sure. Ok.”

He ends his call, grimacing at his phone before lifting that expression to fix it upon you. There’s an almost unsquashable urge to tell him –  _yea, the feeling is absolutely mutual_  – but squash it you do, in favor of hearing about what you hope will be a rescue that is inbound. “Are they on their way?”

“Power surged to the block. Grid. Er…” He gives his head a short shake, his short brown-blonde curls shifting from the motion. The length of the day has worn the hold of the gel that he must have run through his hair this morning. “Dispatched someone. But it’ll be an hour, maybe longer. We’re uninjured and – put a call in to the maintenance team in our building.”

There’s the slightest upturn to the end of his sentence to lend it the air of a question, though he knows you left a message with them. He  _heard_ you leave the message – not interact with anyone. You drop your purse to the floor towards the back of the elevator, shifting out of the golden zone where you had the slightest bit of signal. “Great.”

At least you were on your way home from work. It’s an evening in the middle of the week and there’s no pressing need for freedom, other than wanting to get away from the man you can’t stand.

“Could be worse.”

You lift your eyebrows, locking gazes with him. “If this elevator plummets because of that comment I swear I will haunt the  _fuck_  out of you.”

He blinks, momentarily unable to reply. Then comes a short laugh, seemingly pulled out against his will. “You’ll haunt me.” With a roll of his eyes he pockets his phone again, leaning back against the wall next to the elevator control panel. “Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts, then.”

“Believe in them or not, I will.”

He shifts his shoulders and leans his head back against the metal now supporting his frame. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you continue to glare at him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tom keeps his gaze averted as he begins his reply. His irritation is evident in the way he holds his body, his muscles ridged though the slant of his posture could lend itself to relaxation. “The neighbor that practically files weekly complaints against me…” It’s only at the tail end of his accusation that he looks at you.

You take a breath. He’s annoyed with you?! “I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

The look he fixes you with makes you think that maybe the rest of those that had voiced objections at the start of his residency have now fallen under his spell. It’s that charm that he pours on. Nobody is immune, it seems. The rest of those that had once been on your floor moved out, leaving you to do battle on your own. If those above and below have abandoned you as well… You refuse to be bullied into moving.

“Particularly enjoyed the visit from security, last time. A noise complaint even  _after_ being informed of the fact I was going to have some friends over that night.”

“It was three in the morning and the furniture was still vibrating from the bass in your music.”

“It was a  _party_.”

“It was a  _Monday_.”

Actors. They have a different perspective on the work week, and societal norms. Between that and the fact that the monthly building fees have increased with every payment since he moved in… Thank goodness you had purchased your place outright a few years ago and aren’t suffering an increase to the cost of rent, as well.

Shaking your head, you move to the far side of the elevator, getting as far away from him as you can manage in this small space. You wave one hand in the air between the pair of you as you speak, “You know what, can we wait in silence? Is that something we can do?”

He just nods in reply. Thank. God. Being trapped with him is bad enough without him playing pretentious asshole the entire time. You settle onto the floor, as an afterthought leaning to snag your purse and pull it to you. You try not to grimace as you turn your attention to your phone.  No internet and no bars of service, but it’ll do to distract you from the other occupant of the elevator. Question is, how many games of solitaire will you have to play before help arrives or your phone dies?

Eighteen failed games later, a mere three won, you glance at the time again. Forty-five minutes and still no word from building maintenance, or from fire and rescue. Motion from Tom pulls your attention to him. Despite yourself you look up from the screen of your phone to watch him loosen his tie and slide down the opposing wall to take a seat on the floor. He has his jaw held tight, the muscles along his jawline jumping and bunching as his eyes meet yours. Not wanting to break the blessed silence, you look away quickly – back to your phone that holds a message for you.  _10% power. Plug in your device._  Oh you would if you could.  

Tom’s lament is the next thing that forces your attention away from the increasingly frustrating games of cards that you’re playing. “Oh no, no, no.” He clenches one hand into a fist before shaking the digits loose again, emitting a resigned huff as he drops his hand down to rest atop his thigh. Noticing that you’ve lifted your head he flips his phone momentarily to face you. His screen has gone dark. You feel a momentary triumph that your battery has outlasted his, but then your device is down to 2% – soon to follow the same path. As he pockets his phone he sighs, “Should’ve taken the bloody stairs.”

And there goes the silence.

* * *

## -Hour Two-

Useless electronic devices long since abandoned, you and Tom are once again bickering. The both of you have peeled out of your outer layers, no longer needing the jackets that had protected from the swift wind out-of-doors. Tom starts to roll up his sleeves, pausing between working on his left arm and moving his attention to his right. “I apologized right after that happened. And everyone  _else_  in the building was willing to forgive the new guy his faux pas.”

That argument may have worked in the beginning, but it’s been a year. Apparently until another someone moves in he’s going to milk the title of  _new guy_  for all it is worth. “Yea, well. You’ve given everyone plenty of reasons to forgive.”

That makes his eyebrows go up, and those grey-blue eyes to pause their umpteenth roll to fix upon you again. “Are you implying I’ve paid people off in order to get my way, or that I whore myself out?”

You hold your hands up before you, “Those words came from your lips, not mine.”

“As though that makes the thought any less damaging.” Tom shakes his head, the task of rolling up his sleeves forgotten. “Ignoring the insult, because there’s simply no truth to it… Why the hell are you so hostile towards me? Milne, I get. His life experience has turned him sour. Nobody can please him, myself included. But you? Evidently you’ve made me an exception to your rumored  _lovely_  personality.”

He’s lumping you in with Milne. Milne, the resident sourpuss of the building, who incidentally had trapped you in the mail-room the other day and gone on and on about the merits of the latest op-ed piece that Tom had taken part in. You’d sooner die than admit to Tom that he’s even won Milne over. Remembering your circumstance, you swallow down the ill feeling over the timing of that thought.

“Why does it bother you so much that you don’t have the entire building wrapped around your little finger?”

It’s a non-answer – a question for a question – and one he clearly doesn’t enjoy hearing. “You know what? I think silence was better.”

It is in the pause that follows that you can hear voices other than your own. “Hello up there? Hello? Someone pass me the pole maybe we can edge those doors open and they’ll hear us. Hello?”

You and Tom both respond at the same time, talking over one another until the doors budge – seemingly of their own accord – and then open entirely to reveal the inside of the elevator shaft, save for a three inch gap near your feet. Not much in the way of a view. It’s inarguable regarding your predicament. You’re stuck between floors. Peeking through the opening you can see the tops of several helmets, and a few other unadorned heads. Leaning further towards the floor doesn’t allow much more of the hallway to be visible. At least help is at hand.

There’s a squawk and buzz of a radio, and then the man speaks up again, “One of you want to pick up the phone?”

“Um, both of ours have turned off.” Tom replies, moving closer.

The same man answers after a beat, “The emergency  _elevator_  phone.”

Like the pair of you hadn’t tried to pry the panel door open earlier. Your turn to respond. “It’s locked?”

Another voice speaks up, different than the first. Definitely less amused. “Not if you push and hold the emergency stop and help buttons at the same time. Didn’t either of you read that section of the welcome package?”

While Tom shifts onto his knees and busies himself with following the instructions you continue to talk to those that have at least allowed for fresh air to enter the elevator. “Not ringing, anyway.”

That announcement brings about mutters that you can’t quite distinguish. Your rescuers are talking amongst themselves versus to you. Tom scoots back to your side, announcing through the few inch space: “No tones. Look, is there a way to lever us down, or wedge us up to the next floor, or something?”

“No tones…. Ok. But we’re getting a signal from you guys down here… We’ll get back to you. Hang tight.”

You glance at Tom, who seems just as flabbergasted by the response as you. “Where the hell else do they think we’d go?”

* * *

## -Hour Three-

Once again seated by the elevator control panel, Tom is on the emergency phone trying to sweet talk one of the rescue team into making a run for food, or at least make a call out to get something delivered. The problem of getting the food to the pair of you will be tackled next.

You’re trying not to be annoyed, both with his fidgeting and with his tactics. Concerning his tactics: it’s the same behavior that he adopted with the complex. Wave a checkbook at it, toss on a bit of smooth talking, and voila! His will be done!

Battle won after offering to pay for meals for everyone involved, he deposits the phone back into its cradle and sits back again, triumphant smile plastered on his face. Any moment someone will request for him to pass his card through the few inch space and that damned grin will only grow in strength. Also seeming to remember that that needs to happen, Tom shifts to retrieve his billfold, and after settling back again he lifts his fingers to fiddle with his tie once more.

His fidgeting with the accessory is something you can immediately influence. “For Pete’s sake. Remove the tie, Hiddleston.”

To free up both hands for the task he balances his card atop one leg. He then holds the looped knot of his tie between the fingers of one hand as he slides the material loose with the other, then pulls the offending fabric free of his collar. He holds the tie taut before him, a quirk of his eyebrow asking for the next instruction from you.

No, that wasn’t meant as an invitation to be playful. You exhale as you roll your eyes, “Oh just put it down and give the man your card.”

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitches as he drops the silk material atop his jacket. When he turns to carefully pass his card through the few inch wide opening he lets slip a quiet remark. “I think you might be warming to me.”

* * *

## -Hour Five-

Lesson learned. Pungent food in a confined space you can’t immediately escape from isn’t a great idea. Even shoving the slender containers back through the few inch opening doesn’t help all that much with dissipating the overwhelming scent of marinara and garlic. The scent is slow to fade as the night wears on.

* * *

## -Hour Seven-

A new team arrives, taking the place of those who had been working to free you. It’s a shift change – replacement of those who, like you, hadn’t expected such an extension to the events of the day. If only it were so easy to trade places with someone on your end. With the new team comes a renewed energy – something that, though exhausted, you and Tom try to latch onto.

“Hey up there. We’re going to try a different procedure for the systems reboot. What got the phone in there back on line? Might just work to get the pair of you out.”

“Might?” Tom echoes.

From your station in the center of the elevator floor, palms pressed flat to the smooth surface as you peer through the opening, you emit a hesitant, “O…K… Why the hell no—“

The elevator shudders and gives a small lurch and you break off the end of the sentence, choking on the word  _not._  Tom’s yelp rings in your ears. You hold your breath and close your eyes, waiting for another lurch and sudden freefall – you  _really_  shouldn’t have made that comment about coming back to haunt him – but no further motion comes.

Shouts and short vehement curses – all mirroring your internal panic – cause you to open your eyes again. The small gap between the ceiling of the hallway and the bottom of the elevator has gained an inch. You blink at it, and at the wide eyed individuals scattered farther back in the hallway, and at those standing closer, faces frozen in terror. Heart still in your throat, it’s all you can do to keep your dinner in your stomach where it belongs. From somewhere in the back of your brain the command comes to  _breathe_. Ah yes, those little details. Necessary things like breathing. The breath comes in an odd gasp, but it’s a start.

Tom appears beside you, giving your hand a squeeze as though to assure himself that you’re real – that he’s still sitting there with you in the elevator floor. As Tom pulls away from you he leans down to get his face as close to the opening as he dares, glaring hard at those he can see through it. “Do  _not_  do that again!”

Yes. No. Definitely no. No terrifying the occupants of the elevator and all those watching. No doing that ever again. Please, and thank you. You find your voice after a try or two, your question coming out wobbly and light. “Did – did they just try to kill us?”

Tom seems to like a few of the choice words you can hear coming from the hallway, repeating them under his breath as he sits up again. He nods, swiping at his eyes as he stretches his legs out again. “Yea, I think they did.”

“Secondary brakes engaged. You’re ok, guys. We’re ok. Everybody’s O-K.” Someone out there really likes the word  _ok_.

You shift to pull your knees up before you, close your eyes, and double over to rest your chest against your thighs, putting your head between your knees. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I think I am, too.”

You lift you head to look at Tom, “They really just tried to kill us.”

He cracks a grin through his grim expression, the overall effect of the smile lost for the tears he continues to wipe away. “Yea. Try not to be too disappointed that you’ll have to wait a little longer to haunt me.”

Exhaling, you drop your head again, “Ohh you’re such an asshole.”

“C’mon. I saw that smile. You know you want to laugh.”

You focus on the pattern of the tile floor beneath you while giving him the finger, an action that makes him chuckle. Even as nauseous as you are, you register a tinge of delight at the sound. You flit your gaze over the tile floor, moving from where you’re seated to the worn soles of his shoes, up his legs and torso to focus on his face. “Are my options laughing or crying? Cause I think you have that covered.”

He doesn’t seem too sheepish that he’s crying, or to mind that you’re calling him out on it. “My tear ducts open up when I’m scared.” Tom offers up in explanation.

He cries when he’s scared, and you just made fun of him for it. Now who is the asshole? The next thought to occur in your brain comes out of your mouth, “Hate to see you in a haunted house.” It nets you another short laugh from him, but doesn’t go very far in the way of apologizing – which is perhaps owed. You aim for something akin to an apology, and understanding, “Can’t think of the last time I was so scared I cried. Maybe when I was little and got separated from my family during a trip to the mall. Oh. And the first time I watched The Wizard of Oz and the Wicked Witch came onscreen. Absolutely lost it.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, clearly enjoying this glimpse into the life of the woman who has stonewalled him every day until now. “She’s meant to be scary to children.”

“I was twelve.”

Tom blinks at you, his fear momentarily forgotten. “Twelve? It’s a classic! How, or why, did you wait that long?”

You shrug, “It wasn’t intentional on my part. Maybe my parents knew how I’d react and figured waiting would be better. Guess they weren’t wrong.”

“Hmm. Ah. Speaking of waiting. Something that can’t wait much longer – particularly after that adventure…” The next announcement he makes through the five inch opening draws a laugh from you, though the source is more from amused panic than anything else. “Oi. What, exactly, are we supposed to do about needing to use the loo?”

* * *

## -Hour Nine-

Privacy? What privacy?  You have the audience in the hallway, even thinned as it is considering the early morning hour, and Tom, no more than a few feet away at all times. Exhausted, you’ve stretched out in the floor, using your purse and Tom’s jacket as a makeshift pillow, your own jacket draped over your shoulders once more. Exhausted and uncomfortable – but the latter condition is your own fault. Why? Your insistence upon holding it rather than relieving yourself in one of the provided plastic containers.

Tom huffs, “You’re being ridiculous. Just use the container. You’re cringing every time that you move.”

“I’m fine. I’m holding it.”

“You’ve no idea how much longer we’re going to be in here.”

“I’ve lasted—” you reach over to grab his wrist from where he has his arm loosely held in his lap and yank his wrist towards you to examine his watch. It’s approaching 4 am. Normally you’d have been sleeping a few hours already, tossing and turning, garnering what little sleep you could muster before waking for the repetition of the daily grind, “Ungh. Nine hours, now.”

Tom gently twists his arm from your grasp, “And we might be in here nine hours more.”

That is _not_  a welcome thought. You frown at him, refusing to sit up and feel the pressure to your bladder increase. “You were able to use a bottle. Women – it’s more complicated than that.”

“I have sisters.” He responds, with a slight nod. “Just use the container. Think of it as a chamber pot. They were the standard in the 1700s.”

“I live in 2015, thank you very much.”

“If not the container, maybe a bag? With paper napkins or something stuff in it?” He is unruffled by your irritability and continues to try to talk you into seeing reason. “Is it for lack of privacy? I’ll hold up our jackets, and maybe they can shut the doors again. You’ll feel better once you urinate. I did.”

Your bad temper is a combination of your discomfort and the length of time you’ve now been awake. Yesterday’s early morning exercise routine now seems tied with the worst idea ever – second only to choosing the elevator over the stairs upon arriving home. “Oh stop being so pretentious and just say pee.”

“It’s a natural and necessary thing,  _peeing_.”

Somewhere between when you boarded the elevator with him a little after 7 yesterday evening, and now, the pair of you crossed into something akin to friendship. You almost laugh, hearing him humoring you. Laughing would only make your situation worse. “Wait. Oh, don’t tell me, you have that book  _Everybody Poops_  sitting on a shelf in your bathroom don’t you.”

“Well, everybody does poop, too.”

You sit up, utilizing the conversation to help to distract from the demands of your bladder. “Please stop talking about bodily functions. There need to be some boundaries that we maintain.”

“Boundaries?” He laughs harder, making it even more difficult to keep from joining in. Clearly he finds the concept just as ludicrous as you do, given your situation. He soldiers on regardless. “Look, I can’t very well shut my ears, particularly not if I’m holding up a jacket – but if that’s your objection we can figure something out… Just uh – drape a jacket across your lap or something. That way…”

“Ok. Ok. Stop. Enough.” You shake your head, holding your hands out to try to wave the words out of his mouth. Futile, but you try to stall him out regardless. “Give me the container and – wait no, don’t stop talking. Talk about … whatever you want. Puppies. Rainbows. Just ramble.”

Much to your relief, afterwards, you note the container is opaque.

* * *

## -Hour Eleven-

Somehow Tom makes sleeping upright against the right side wall of the elevator look effortless. Its probably years of practice snatching moments of rest whenever an opportunity to do so arose. You just can’t settle. Given the dimensions of the elevator you could very nearly stretch out lengthwise and attempt sleep, but even with the benefit of his jacket, and your own, the position is less than comfortable. You wind up scooting into the back right corner – your back supported by the back wall of the elevator, your head resting on the perpendicular wall that Tom is leaning against.

“Elevensies.”

The suddenness of his announcement makes you jump and kick out as it jars you awake, the ball of your foot colliding with Tom’s thigh. Groggy from a little under two hours of sleep – too long to be considered a nap, too short to do much good – you struggle to get your brain to make the connection between words and meaning as you stretch away the aches in your muscles and joints. “What?”

“It’s been eleven hours.” He looks up from the face of his watch and turns his wrist so you can see the time as well. 5:45 am. Evidently his internal alarm clock had gone off, and since  _he_  was awake,  _you_ had to be wakened. “Missed 11 pm, by a long shot…”

As he chuckles you groan, feeling the need to point out what you think to be obvious. “You’re delirious.”

“ _You’re_  delirious. How do you not know a Lord of the Rings reference when you hear one?”

Eleven hours. Eleven. Hours. Your brain is starting to catch up. You’ve survived eleven hours stuck in a 5 foot by 6 foot space. With Tom, of all people. Who’d have thought you’d survive this long without killing one another? After pausing to yawn, you shake your head and reply, “Do you always expect people to just jump from sleep into conversation?”

Tom rubs at his leg, the first sign he’s shown that he registered your kick to his thigh, “Depends on the company I’m keeping. Do you always resort to violence upon being woken?”

You pause to wink at him before shifting to get a view of whatever progress is being made in the hallway beyond the elevator, “Maybe. Depends on the company I’m keeping.”

“Now I  _know_  you’re warming to me.”

“How’s that?”

He is smiling at you, not even bothering to hide the broad cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “Never would’ve admitted that to me eleven hours ago.”

Nearly there, the workers promise you… but they’ve been nearly there for far too long. You puff out a breath as you settle back onto your haunches. “Yea, well. Lack of sleep. No filter.”

* * *

## -Hour Twelve-

“That’s a quarter of the building already!” Tom has made a game out of watching the approach and ultimate turnabout of uninformed, or just plain curious neighbors. Some that you know to live on lower level floors have made unnecessary appearances. Everyone wants to bear witness to your predicament, as though the rumors swirling the building might prove false if not personally witnessed.

Both you and Tom are seated against the back wall of the elevator, voyeurs by force. Building security has set up a perimeter preventing anyone from getting too close to the immobile elevator. Safety reasons.

“Oh wait – there’s David.” Tom breaks off his laughter when he spots one of the fire and rescue team emerging from the stairwell. Evidently once handing a stranger your urine you’ve no choice but to be on a first name basis with them. “Please mate, let it be good news.”

“Ummm….” David hems as he moves past building security, stopping just short in his approach so he can still maintain eye contact with the pair of you. “Sort of. Good bit of news number one: we know what part malfunctioned.”

“And have been working on repairing it so we can get moving again?” Tom asks, ever the optimist.

You exhale slowly. A malfunctioning part means it isn’t a false alert created by the power surge to the grid – and if it has taken them this long to figure that out, that means they’ve only just begun on the game plan to get the elevator moving again.

David nods, scrunching his nose as he does so. “That’s the thing. The part that – this elevator’s not moving again for a while…”

“Oh no.” You lean to rest your head against Tom’s shoulder.

Tom gives you knee a squeeze before speaking again, “Ok. Ok. So that was bit number one. Is there a good news bit number two?”

Behind your eyelids you roll your eyes. Tom just won’t give up his eternal positivity. David’s affirmative answer makes you flutter your eyes open again. Good news?  _Legitimate_  good news?

“Yea. That elevator has a roof hatch.”

You lift your gaze upwards to zero in on the roof hatch after David mentions it. It is well beyond reach, even for Tom – and is, as you are informed, impossible to open from the inside. But – this is supposed to be  _good_  news David is delivering! You lower your gaze once more and give David a look of skepticism, something he doesn’t appear to notice. “Machine just arrived, finally done at one of the other sites. Needed it for counterweight before sending someone down. We’ll have you out in maybe half an hour.”

Tom is up and on his feet quickly, already contemplating the problem of reaching the roof hatch. Salvation! You’ve become something of an expert at reading the hands of Tom’s watch, even upside down and in motion as it is now.

6:29 am.

You’ll be free of the elevator, if all goes well, just in time to call out to work. There is no way you’re going in after all this. If being stuck in an elevator for twelve hours doesn’t qualify as reason enough for a personal day, you don’t know what would.

After standing you offer up a comment, “So – this will be fun.” You glance sidelong at Tom who is still studying the small rectangle upon the ceiling that promises freedom.

Tom shifts his shoulder in a rolling, and slightly lopsided, shrug. “I’ll lift you up.”

You retrieve your purse, looping the strap over your neck to secure it to your person as you reply. “Uh-huh. Like I said. Fun.”  

Even with the bump of footsteps serving as warning the pair of you jump when the hatch above your heads opens. The technician barely gets out his hello before Tom motions you closer. It seems that despite his stubbornly sunny demeanor, he’s just as ready to be free of confinement as you are. “Ready?” He crouches and interlocks his fingers, indicating he wants you to step into his hands. This should prove interesting. If either of you lose your balance it’ll just be another something to tack onto the already lengthy tale as to what happened the day the elevator stopped.

You nod before reaching out to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, “As I’ll ever be…”

You’d rather keep your body turned to better be able to brace against the wall of the elevator, but it would twist your leg at an odd angle. Rather than being perpendicular to Tom, you end up face to face. Tom holds you left foot firmly as he lifts you towards the hatch, the pair of you working together to maintain your center of gravity.

Almost as soon as your fingertips touch the roof of the elevator you wobble. Tom immediately reacts, moving one hand to grip the back of your leg just above your knee. “Careful…”

Help comes from above, as well. The technician helps you to grab onto the ledge before moving to hook his hands under your arms. You’re not focused on him though, your attention is on the location of Tom’s hand – inching its way up your thigh towards your ass. You look down at Tom, nearly forgetting the precarious position you’re in. “Hey! Hands, Sunshine!”

His expression is  _almost_  innocent. “Didn’t want you to fall.”

“Uh-huh.” The elevator shaft is illuminated from above by a spotlight angled down at the opening for the next floor, a ladder extending down from the landing. As the technician helps you through the hatch and onto the roof of the elevator you give a nod towards the opening you just passed through, “Any chance we can leave him in there?”

The technician hardly pauses, “No. Secure this around your waist.” It’s then that you note he has a similar cord attached to a harness strapped around his torso. No time for funny business. He waits for you to clip the harness around yourself, a carabiner attaching the cord to the harness, and then motions towards the ladder, “Alright. Someone’s waiting for you up there. Your boyfriend will be close behind.”

You shake your head, “Oh. No. He’s not… never mind.” It doesn’t much matter what this man thinks. You give up your retort and turn to start your ascent. Just as he said, there is someone waiting to help disentangle you from the belt once more.

By the time you’re free of the harness Tom appears at the top of the ladder, the two men apparently making quick work of pulling him through the hatch. As he stands, your eye is drawn from watching him smooth out his rumpled shirt to the sign just over his shoulder.

Your floor. The elevator was stuck just below your floor.

Tom glances up, takes note of your face, and turns to look. If you weren’t so ready to run headlong towards your door and collapse into bed you might find his double-take amusing. His shoulders rise and fall with the expelling of breath. “Huh.”  

* * *

* * *

##  -Some Weeks Later-

It’s the subject of much discussion in the complex, the change in the way the pair interacts. She still calls him Sunshine, but no longer with the hard intonation. In the past they had been coolly cordial towards one another, and observed avoidance tactics that bordered on comical. Now the pair can frequently be found pausing to converse when they ‘run into each other’ in the mail-room or lobby.

It’s the last Friday of the month and the neighbors are all congregated near the pool, the last time it will be open before the season demands that it be drained. With the sky melding from mixture of yellows, reds, and oranges into the cooler tones of the night, the complex watches the pair interact with barely concealed fascination. She had arrived late, and while they had mingled with others in the crowd for a period of time, they had ended up side by side within an hour.

The conversation amongst the neighbors has circled back to speculation. “How long do you think it will last? I give them another two weeks before they devolve to what it was before.”

“Pessimist.” Comes the reply before the speaker downs another gulp of their drink. After swallowing they shake their head, “You obviously haven’t heard him talking about her. Now that he’s being graced with the version of her that she allows the rest of us to see… I think he’s smitten.”

The comment produces a tittering of laughter from the group, and a few sidelong glances at the pair. “Think they’ll give it a go?”

“I ship it.”

Another round of laughter erupts. It’s the last the neighbors speak of it until later in the evening when everyone has started to disperse for the night. Though it doesn’t appear planned, the pair seems to come to the decision to call it a night at the same time. The call button for the elevator is lit, one of the building’s inhabitants having pushed the button to ascend… but when the pair walks through the lobby they bypass the landing, choosing instead to head for the stairwell despite the number of flights they will have to mount in order to reach their floor.

After twelve hours stuck in one they seem determined to avoid elevators at all costs.


End file.
